The Forgotten Crossroads: Bago’s Turbulent Past and Its Echoes in Modern Myanmar
Home / Bago history
Nestled in the heart of Lower Myanmar, Bago Division (formerly Pegu) is a living archive of Southeast Asia’s geopolitical struggles. Its history—often overshadowed by Mandalay or Yangon—reveals patterns that resonate eerily with today’s headlines: resource wars, authoritarianism, and cultural resilience.
Long before colonial cartographers drew borders, the Mon people established one of Southeast Asia’s most sophisticated civilizations here. The 14th-century Hanthawaddy Kingdom (1287–1539) transformed Bago into a cosmopolitan hub, where Theravada Buddhist pagodas towered over bustling ports. Merchants from Gujarat, Malacca, and Ayutthaya bartered lacquerware and rubies—a precursor to today’s BRI trade corridors.
Yet this golden age collapsed under invasion. In 1539, the Toungoo Dynasty’s King Tabinshwehti sacked Bago, mirroring modern resource grabs. His conquest wasn’t just territorial; it was about controlling the Sittaung River’s rice basket—a stark parallel to 21st-century "land grabs" by Myanmar’s junta-backed conglomerates.
When the British annexed Bago in 1852 during the Second Anglo-Burmese War, they weren’t just after territory. Bago’s teak forests became the engine of colonial extraction. George Orwell’s "Burmese Days" barely scratches the surface of the brutality: entire villages were conscripted as forced labor (a system locals called hmattan), foreshadowing today’s reports of military-backed slavery in jade mines.
The British also weaponized identity politics. By favoring Karen and Indian migrants over Mon and Bamar locals, they planted seeds for today’s ethnic conflicts. Sound familiar? Fast-forward to 2024, where Myanmar’s junta exploits these same divisions to justify atrocities in Rakhine and Kayah.
Most know Thailand’s "Death Railway," but few recall its Bago segment. In 1943, Japanese occupiers forced 50,000 Allied POWs and local laborers to build tracks through malaria-infested jungles near Thanbyuzayat. Over 12,000 died—a horror eclipsed only by the junta’s current use of forced labor on infrastructure projects like the China-Myanmar Economic Corridor (CMEC).
After the 1962 coup, Bago’s rice fields became testing grounds for General Ne Win’s "Burmese Way to Socialism." His land nationalizations starved farmers while cronies grew rich—a blueprint for today’s military kleptocracy. The Shwemawdaw Pagoda, once a symbol of Mon pride, was rebuilt with forced "donations," much like junta extortion of businesses today.
When Nargis obliterated Bago’s delta in 2008, the regime blocked aid while seizing reconstruction funds. This playbook returned during COVID-19, when oxygen hoarding killed thousands. The Bago Massacre of 2021 (where security forces gunned down 80 protesters) proved little had changed.
Despite EU sanctions, Bago’s forests are stripped bare by junta-linked companies like Myanmar Timber Enterprise. Satellite images show deforestation near Taungoo accelerating since the 2021 coup—fueling both climate collapse and arms purchases. Activists tracking these shipments risk torture, echoing Orwell’s 1920s police reports.
In 2023, Mon and Karen militias launched joint operations near Kyaikto, targeting junta supply lines. Their cooperation—rare in Myanmar’s fractured resistance—harks back to pre-colonial Hanthawaddy’s pluralism. Could this be a model for a post-junta federation?
From its Mon zenith to junta-ravaged present, Bago’s story is Myanmar in microcosm: a cautionary tale of how empires—medieval or modern—consume borderlands. Yet amid the ruins of Kanbawzathadi Palace, something endures. When protesters in 2021 waved the peacock flag of Hanthawaddy, they weren’t just rejecting tyranny. They were resurrecting Bago’s oldest lesson: unity outlives conquest.